Milk and Honey
by CarlieD
Summary: Spin-off of Honey and Wine. The story of the four years between Ziva’s departure and her return. The story of a little boy named Calev.


**Milk and Honey**

_Spin-off of Honey and Wine. The story of the four years between Ziva's departure and her return. The story of a little boy named Calev._

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of NCIS.

TAKES PLACE: Between the Prologue and Chapter 1 of Honey and Wine.

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Return to Tel Aviv (2006)**

_May 2006_

Ziva sighed as the plane touched down in Tel Aviv. She closed her eyes briefly, listening to the sounds of the passengers disembarking. She wanted to put off this confrontation for as long as possible.

***

"Ziva!" came a delighted cry from the crowds as she walked out of the arrival gates. "Ziva, here!"

Smiling, Ziva stopped to let her young sister try to knock her over with a tight hug. "Shalom, Ahava, I missed you," she said with a laugh. "Look at you, you've grown like a weed!"

"Ziva, it's been _forever_ since you came home!" Ahava continued to gush, beckoning her father and brother over. "Father, look, Ziva's home!"

"Yes, Ahava, I can see that," Shmuel replied quietly, a suspicious look in his eyes as he watched his youngest children fall all over themselves to make sure they would be the favored one in their big sister's eyes. "Shalom, Ziva."

It figured that he would've brought the children with him. Now they couldn't get into an argument. Now she couldn't explain to him why she had come home. Not with Ahava and Matai there.

"Shalom, Father," she replied calmly, giving Matai one last kiss.

When it finally happened, it wouldn't be pretty.

***

"Father even let me miss my classes today so I could come get you from the airport with him, Ziva!" Ahava chattered. "Ziva, what's it like in America?"

"Ahava, Matai, it's bedtime," the housekeeper said from the doorway. It was a new woman from the last time Ziva had been home. This one was older, seemed stricter than the last one.

"But Ziva – " Ahava started to protest, when Ziva kissed her cheek and said,

"I'll still be here in the morning, Ahava. I'll even walk with you to school if you'd like."

"No, you stay with me!" Matai protested, from his spot on Ziva's lap. "Ziva, stay with _me_."

"Matai, you can come with me," Ziva laughed, before Shmuel interrupted harshly.

"No. Matai stays here. And you need to come to Mossad with me tomorrow morning. Orpah will see to it that Ahava leaves for school. Ahava, Matai, to bed now." When the children had disappeared from the living room, Shmuel entered and closed the door. "Why did you return early, Ziva? Your term wasn't complete for another year. To read your reports, the American assignment was to your liking. Has something happened with the Americans? Should we be concerned?"

"No, no, Father, there's nothing wrong professionally," Ziva said quickly – the last thing she needed was for her father to blast Jenny Shepard's head off her shoulders for no reason. Jenny had nothing to do with it, though she seemed to suspect something was up.

"You had better not be having personal troubles, Ziva, you're _metsada_," Shmuel warned. "Personal troubles would indicate a relationship of some kind. You know the limits of Komemuite."

"No, no, there is no relationship," she assured him.

"What's wrong, then?" Shmuel asked. "Something has to be wrong."

"I… Well, there was no relationship and is no relationship – " Ziva started to defend herself again, before Shmuel burst out angrily.

"For the love of Adonai, Ziva, don't tell me what I think you're telling me!"

Ziva hesitated a beat longer. "I'm pregnant, Father."

"Ziva!" Shmuel exclaimed. "Ziva, how could you be that _stupid_? Tell me you've made arrangements to deal with this."

"No," Ziva replied quietly. "I haven't."

"Of course you haven't, you would've stayed in America if you had," Shmuel muttered, more to himself than to her. "Ziva, you know the rules. How long?"

Ziva paused, chewing at her lower lip. "No."

"No, what?"

"No, I'm not going to do it," Ziva said. "I don't care what you do or what you threaten. I will keep this child, and you will not interfere with my lifestyle."

"There will be little chance of that, Ziva," Shmuel replied. "Leave now. I don't want you in my house any longer. Consider yourself let go from Mossad. If you know what's best for you, Ziva, you will deal with this problem in a timely manner, or you will inform the implicated party of the situation."

"I will 'deal' with this, Father, the way I wish to," Ziva said coolly, picking up her backpack again. "Let me say goodbye to Ahava and Matai, unless you want them to suspect something."

***

"But Ziva…" Ahava protested in distress as Ziva knelt down next to her sister's bed. "But Ziva, you said you'd stay here until you found your apartment! I even made your bed myself for you!"

"Ahava, pet, I'm sorry," Ziva said softly. She brushed back a lock of Ahava's hair, then kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry this didn't work out. Goodbye."

"I don't want you to leave!" Ahava sobbed futilely, even as Ziva was standing up to leave the room again. "I don't want you to leave again! If you leave again, I'm going with you, so you have to stay because then I would take Matai with me and since Matai's not allowed to leave, you have to _stay_…" She scrambled out of her bed desperately and latched herself onto Ziva, begging with all the might she could muster in her 8-year-old self. "Please, Ziva, stay…"

"Ahava," Ziva sighed, pausing as she detached her little sister. "Ahava, nothing will change the fact that you are my sister and that I love you so, so much. It's just… it's just that Father and I… we just can't live in the same house."

"But are you leaving because you want to, or because Father is making you?" Ahava persisted tearfully.

"I'm not sure, Ahava, to tell you the truth. Go back to bed, Ahavaleh."

***

Ziva didn't encounter the same problem with Matai: he was already asleep. She gave him a kiss on his soft cheek and then left quickly, pulling out her cell phone as she went. For a moment, she had begun to dial Tony. Then she remembered the whole reason she was back in Tel Aviv in the first place was because she didn't want Tony to know.

Sighing, she cancelled her action and then started redialing.

***

"Ziva, what's going on with you?" Youssef asked softly as he closed the door behind her. "Not that I'm not thrilled that you've shown up on my doorstep in the dead of night…"

"Not tonight, Youssef, please?" Ziva pleaded. He watched her face for a moment and then nodded. "Thank you, Youssef," she said, dropping her bag to the ground. "I'm sorry, I just got in from Washington this evening, and…"

"You're tired, that's perfectly acceptable," Youssef replied gently. "Don't worry about it, Ziva. We can talk tomorrow."

***

When Ziva woke up the next morning, she was curled beneath Youssef's blankets, his warm body wrapped around her in an almost protective fashion. His deep, measured breaths told her that he was still asleep, and as she tried to carefully untangle herself, he jumped and awoke. "Oh, I'm sorry, Youssef, I didn't mean to wake you," she said apologetically, sitting up.

"No, it's fine," he replied as he sat up drowsily. For a moment, they both just looked at each other. Then he made the first move, easing his arm across the exposed skin of her abdomen as he kissed the base of her neck. "I've missed having you nearby, Ziva," he murmured. "I'm not going to lie, I'm glad you're back, but I had the impression you were enjoying America. What happened?"

Ziva sighed as his light kisses made their way up her neck and across to her face. "Youssef… the reason I came back is because I'm… I'm going to have a baby." Youssef stopped dead in his tracks. "My father kicked me out and fired me last night because I will not have an abortion…"

"And the baby's father?" Youssef asked carefully, backing away from her. "Does he know?"

"No," Ziva replied quietly. "I can't tell him. It was a fling, a one-night fling, and when I'd finally gotten up the _chutzpah_ to tell him, he announces that he's engaged… I can't tell him."

***

She stayed with Youssef for a week or two, but she couldn't risk staying any longer – he was Hamas. They would become suspicious if the Jew stayed any longer than that. Thankfully, she managed to grab a decent apartment in that time frame. Maybe there was such a thing as God.

Now she would truly begin to believe in God if He would just send a job her way.

***

_August 2006_

Never in her life had she seen her bank account drop that low. It brought chills down her spine to think about the fact that one unexpected expense – one angry child throwing a rock and hitting her window – and she would be ruined. It made her nearly tremble at the thought.

Ziva stared at her statement a moment longer, then ripped it up and threw it in the trash, sighing as she sat down heavily on her couch. What had she been thinking? What had she been thinking, leaving NCIS, leaving Mossad, keeping this child? What in the world had possessed her to commit such a stupid act?

Her phone rang just then, and Ziva picked it up. "This is David."

_"Ziva, it's Killian O'Malley."_ Killian was an old acquaintance from her now long-gone Mossad days, one of Israel's national security administrators. _"I was wondering if I could entice you into some consulting work."_

"For what purposes?" Ziva asked, her heart skipping a beat.

_"National security wants somebody with Mossad experience to help out on some open cases. Nothing that would send you away, nothing full-time, unfortunately, but a couple of consultation terms. The board is prepared to offer a nice pay for your work…"_

"Absolutely," Ziva said immediately. "Where and when, Killian? You have just restored my faith in God."

Killian laughed. _"Come down to the IDF base for tomorrow morning."_

_***_

_November 2006_

"Is anybody sitting here, or can I have this seat?" asked a smartly-dressed man as he paused at the cafeteria table.

Ziva looked up from her notes momentarily. "Oh, no, go right ahead," she said with a vague smile. "I'm sorry, you look familiar," she said, as he bowed his head briefly in prayer and then began to eat.

"I was sitting in on your antiterrorism presentation this morning," he replied. "I'm Professor Chayyim Mendel, I teach Israeli history here. I couldn't resist seeing how an ex-Mossad officer would present an antiterrorism workshop."

When Ziva raised an eyebrow at him, he continued, a little abashed, "I didn't mean any offense. It's just that I thought – "

"You thought I would be a fanatic, a militaristic rabble-rouser? Thought I was there to steal away your students from a decent, hardworking scholastic life? Convert them to the way of the _metsada_?"

"My national security and military background is restricted to the three years I spent in IDF, and that was quite some time ago," he admitted with a slight smile. "But enough about work. I noticed that you don't wear a wedding ring."

"Why did I know that one was coming?" Ziva muttered, more to herself than to Chayyim. "No, I'm not married."

"And may I ask why not?" Chayyim asked curiously, watching her face.

Ziva sighed, eyeing him sceptically.

"I'm sorry, that was intrusive," he said immediately. "I have a background in sociology and psychology as well as history. People and their actions intrigue me."

"Then I would be the case study of a lifetime," Ziva replied with a dry laugh.


End file.
